Garcia talks with (from left) James Robertson, Douglas Robertson and Lori Maxwell at the Plantation Place RV Park. Maxwell’s RV was totaled in the tornado.
(David Woo - Staff Photographer)

Some want a hug to quell their trembling. Others need to talk, their stories bursting out like water from a fractured pipe. Paul Garcia obliges them, one after another, as he slowly picks his way around the damp, tornado-battered grounds of an RV park.

Garcia, 48, is pastor of Bobtown Road Baptist Church, ministering to a tiny congregation of 60 members in Garland. He also volunteers as a chaplain for the Dallas County Sheriff’s Department.

He answers calls at all hours. It could be a middle-of-the-night traffic accident where he accompanies deputies to notify loved ones about a death. Or a routine ride-along with a deputy. A uniformed law enforcement officer suffering from the stresses of the job is more likely to open up in the privacy ofa squad car than back at the office.

Since the Dec. 26 storms that killed at least 11 and injured dozens more, Garcia has been administering emotional first aid to those caught in the path of a dozen tornadoes that hopscotched across North Texas. With indiscriminate ferocity, the twisters exploded through spacious, manicured lots in Sunnyvale and densely packed apartment complexes in Garland.

Wherever he goes, Garcia makes sure to stop and chat with deputies guarding the damaged neighborhoods. He offers them bottles of water and bags of chips to snack on. Sometimes, he learns that their own homes were damaged by the storms but they haven’t had time to deal with it.

His uniform identifies him as with the Sheriff’s Department and includes the word “Chaplain” emblazoned on the front and back of his winter jacket. But he doesn’t carry a gun — or a Bible.

And he doesn’t preach. He’s there to listen more than talk and to offer help and information, such as where to find food and temporary shelter.

“The immediate needs are for their physical well-being,” he says, “to make sure they’re not hurt and that they have a place to stay.”

Low-key approach

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On Tuesday morning, three days after the deadly storms, he pulled into the Plantation Place RV Park near Sunnyvale, which advertises itself as a 40-acre estate and is fronted by an imposing white-columned plantation-style mansion.

But Saturday’s blitz of tornadoes whipped through the park, splattering dozens of wheeled homes into piles of splintered wood and twisted metal. Amazingly, there were no fatalities, though some residents were injured. The acrid smell of burnt rubber and plastic still hung in the air as stunned residents poked around the debris.

It’s Garcia’s nature to approach people deliberately and quietly, letting them make the first move.

“How ya’ doing?” he asked as he walked up to Wayne Carter, a lanky 72-year-old man standing on the vacant lot where his mobile home had been parked. “Are you getting enough food?”

Carter waved back at Garcia. “I’m fine. Staying with my son.”

With a matter-of-fact tone, Carter said he’d been watching the news in the back of his RV when he felt the home start to shake. He ran toward his bedroom to grab his wallet and dog when the wind flipped the vehicle over three times. He couldn’t believe he survived, and that his dog did, too. But Carter did need eight stitches in his back.

Holding a broom and looking at the debris around him, he sighed. “I just don’t know where to start.”

'Ministry of presence'

Before he became a minister, Garcia worked for almost 20 years as a physician’s assistant for an orthopedic surgeon in Plano. In the medical field, he learned how to deal with people in shock.

As a minister, he knows there aren’t any easy answers in times of tragedy. Instead, he tries to do a “ministry of presence,” as he puts it, letting people see that he’s there for them, if needed.

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In times of crisis, he's found that people's emotional needs areoften hidden and not easy to uncover. "I can usually tell pretty quickly who's going to open up and who's not," he says.

When someone is overcome with emotions, he’ll ask if they have a church contact or minister he can call. If not, he’ll tell them he can call a friend or family member to stay with them.

Garcia has a low-key personality. His spiritual calling came on gradually. From a practical standpoint, when he took over his church nearly 12 years ago, it meant a simple, if not easy, transition “from meeting medical needs to spiritual needs,” he says.

As a minister, he first got involved with the sheriff’s deputies after one of them was killed in an off-duty motorcycle accident. A church member who was also a deputy asked if Garcia could meet with the man’s family to provide emotional support.

A few years later, in 2009, the Sheriff’s Department decided to create a chaplain’s unit and started with six volunteers, including Garcia. They’ve since expanded to eight. In addition to working with patrol deputies, the chaplains volunteer in the county jails, ministering to both inmates and employees.

Garcia doesn’t try to do psychological counseling. He refers those people to specialists. “I’m like an ER doctor for emotions — good at assessing the immediate needs in a crisis,” he says.

And that’s why within hours of last weekend’s storm, he was at the RV park calmly approaching people and offering assistance as they emerged from the debris in shock, needing someone to lean on.

That’s also why you could still find him there three days later, talking to Lori and Dan Maxwell, who barely escaped their mobile home before it was hit by a tornado.

After she finished her story, Garcia asked if she needed anything.

She was blessed to have family in the area, she said, wiping her eyes. But she could always use someone to lean on.